Meet the Uchihas
by NarutoRomantic
Summary: Modern AU. Uchiha Sasuke, heir to a multi-million dollar weapons manufacturing company, wants to bring his girlfriend Sakura home to meet the family. Between his misogynistic father, his mother's homicidal tendencies, his brother's connection to the event that must never be mentioned, and his sister-in-law's frequent 'out of body experiences'... what could go wrong? SasuSaku.
1. Introduction

"Do you think that they'll like me?" Sakura asked as she blotted her cherry-red lipstick on a soft, white cotton kerchief.

Sasuke sighed. This had to be the hundredth time that she'd reapplied and blotted in the last hour alone... "Hn, I don't see why not."

"I can think of a hundred reasons." She countered, "I'm too outspoken, I drink too much, I dress too ostentaciously, I have my own career - and no, we are _not_ having that discussion again, I still have absolutely _no_ intention of giving it up - I'm too independent, I don't want to have children -,"

"We're just having dinner. It's not like they're asking you to deliver your entire autobiography." Sasuke said, "Just be yourself and I'm sure that everything will be fine."

But Sakura still wouldn't hear it, "But even _you_ think that I'm annoying at least fifty percent of the time - and you're my boyfriend!"

"More like eighty..." the elder grumbled beneath his breath.

To her credit, Sakura didn't let it faze her - she merely rolled with the punches. "See? How can I ever expect to be able to win over your family when even _you_ want to duct tape my mouth closed fifty -,"

"Eighty." He corrected.

"...eighty percent of the time?" She finished, as if she had never been interrupted.

With their engagement on the horizon, Sasuke had insisted that Sakura be properly introduced to his family. They'd been introduced once before, when Sasuke was in Tokyo on a business trip that had rolled over into a two-week vacation and had called his father via Skype to let him know that he'd checked into the hotel. Sakura, who had accompanied him on the trip, had just emerged from the shower and was patting her hair dry with a towel whilst he discussed negotiation tactics with his father.

Uchiha Fugaku had chastised his son for 'mixing business with pleasure', and before Sasuke could inform his father that Sakura was not, in fact, a prostitute, his scantily clad girlfriend had come over, stuck her face uncomfortably close to the screen, and proceeded to tell him exactly where he could shove his misogynistic comments. She'd slammed the laptop screen closed, abruptly ending the Skpye call, before returning to wringing the excess water from her hair as if nothing had transpired.

"So, your first meeting was far from ideal." Sasuke said with a shrug, "I doubt that Dad even remembers -,"

"But I _do_ remember." She said. She adjusted her collar, attempting to conceal as much of her cleavage as possible. "Maybe I should just change my dress. I wouldn't want to look too provocative and be mistaken for a whore again -,"

Sasuke frowned, "If you change one more time, we're going to be late. You look _fine_ -,"

"I have to look better than fine. I have to look _perfect_."

"Fine. Whatever. You look perfect. Can we _please_ leave?" It was likely his mother would _literally_ kill him if dinner went cold because they had to wait to eat.

"Seriously, I want you to give me your opinion on this dress." She rose from her vanity stool, doing a little twirl to show off the simple black and red halter she'd chosen for the occasion. "I think that I'm showing too much skin -,"

"If you managed to find something _less_ revealing than that damned frock, I'd be surprised. You look like a fucking mummy." And then, quickly, "And no, that was not my not-so-subtle way of suggesting you change into something less smothering. Like I said, you look perfect -,"

"No, you said that I look fine -,"

"Fine. Perfect. _Whatever_. The important thing is that you're not changing." He grabbed hold of her wrist, "We're leaving."

"But Sasuke-kun, I need my earrings!" She was reaching back toward the vanity, but her actions were in vain. Sasuke was already dragging her down the hallway and toward their front door, the bedroom fading into a distant memory.

"Leave them."

She was thinking too hard. She shouldn't feel the need to change her outfit three times and re-do her make-up five times just to gain the approval of a family that already considered her one of their own. Well, he wasn't entirely certain if his father felt that way, but... He assumed that the rest of them would love Sakura simply because he himself did. If just being her normal, brilliant, beautiful, _annoying_ self had been enough to win Sasuke over, it should be enough for his family as well.

It was difficult to manuever Sakura into the car - mostly because she was still blabbering about those damned earrings - but eventually he settled her down and buckle her in. She began to pick at the belt, the standard-issue gray belt replaced by Star Trek themed belts. Thankfully, the sight of the seat belt was enough to break her mantra about her damned outfit... only to start another about how adorable it was that her boyfriend was a closet nerd.

In his attempt to remind her that his car was in the shop for the week thanks to Naruto's inability to parallel park - he could still remember the horrific _crunch_ his baby had made when Naruto backed into it at almost twenty miles per hour (and who backs up at twenty miles per hour, anyway?) - and he'd had to borrow his older brother's corvette until the whole thing blew over... He only served to remind Sakura that his brother would, in fact, be attending dinner as well.

"Isn't his wife a famous fashion designer? Oh _god_ , how could you have let me leave the house in this? We have to go back." She reached for the door, which he promptly locked. Just as she'd started to whine, he peeled out of the driveway, leaving angry black skid marks in their wake...

"Oops, looks like it's too late to turn back now. What a shame." Sasuke continued as the apartment complex faded to a dot in the distance.

Sakura crossed her arms over her chest, "You're an ass."

Oh yes, this was bound to be a _wonderful_ night.


	2. The Uchihas

**MEANWHILE**

"Oh, where _is_ that boy? He should have been here fifteen minutes ago!" Mikoto mumbled, sliding her black oven mitts off her hands and hanging them on the hook beside the stove. The scent of stewed tomatoes was thick in the air.

"Is oji-san secretly a vampire, baachan?" Samuru asked, standing on his tip-toes so that he could see the thick, red liquid bubbling on the stovetop.

Mikoto, momentarily taken aback, suddenly found herself overcome by fits of laughter, "Whatever would make you think that, my dear?"

The ten-year-old poked at the stew with a wooden spoon, cringing when the skin crinkled slightly. "You only make blood stew when oji-san's coming for dinner." He reasoned, as if this were a perfectly legitimate explanation. "And he has an unhealthy fixation with the color black."

"Hmm... weren't you and your sister planning on getting him a _pink_ sweater for Christmas?" Her laughter seemed to intensify at the very idea.

"Hey! He needs _something_ to brighten up that wardrobe! Besides, by the law of cute nieces and nephews, he is obligated to accept _any_ gift that we give him or risk an epic crying fit." He looked around quickly, before adding underneath his breath, "And you know how easy it is for Makoto to turn on the waterworks."

There was an uncomfortably loud _crash_ in the living room, followed by a grumbled, "I heard that!"

"Stop tormenting your sister, Samuru." Mikoto chastised gently, "Your Uncle Sasuke is not a vampire. He's just a little... eccentric."

"If eccentric is the word used to describe an idiot who spent their entire sophomore year of college sleeping in a _coffin_ , then yeah, Sasuke is 'eccentric'." Itachi shuffled into the kitchen, using a wet rag to wipe a dark red substance off his hands.

A meat cleaver soared through the air, Itachi side-stepping just in time to avoid being caught in its immediate trajectory. "What have I told you about parading those bloody hands in front of the boy?" Samuru, undeterred by the sight of blood and the sharp projectiles, proceeded to catapult himself into his father's arms.

"Oh, because him witnessing his grandmother throw _knives_ at his father is so much better?" Itachi rolled his eyes. And then, shifting the ten-year-old a bit in his arms, he grumbled, "What the hell is your grandmother feeding you? Bricks?"

Samuru practically _blossomed_ under his father's attention, climbing him like a ladder to settle on his shoulders. He started to toy with Itachi's ebony locks, pulling it from the dark blue hair tie holding it in a messy ponytail and running his fingers through it like a hairdresser trying to evenly distribute styling product. Itachi finished cleaning his hands, before carelessly tossing the wet wipe into the nearby trashcan.

Nobody spoke of what Itachi did for a living. For all intents and purposes, he was in the employ of the Uchiha's weapons manufacturing business. He had a corner office, a full staff that reported to him on the regular... He brought home a hefty paycheck, especially considering he never actually sat at the two-thousand dollar birchwood desk that commanded almost the entirety of one wall in his office.

The particulars of his job were known only to Fugaku and Itachi himself, but it was not uncommon for him to return home with blood on his hands. He'd told Ritsuka that he was picking up extra hours at the local butcher shop - needless to say, she hadn't needed a great deal of convincing to be willing to look the other way. But Mikoto... she worried that the day was rapidly approaching where her little boy would be returned to her in a box.

She was broken from her rather macabre chain of thought by the sound of the smoke alarm blaring, and she turned to see thick plumes of black smoke coming up from the stew on the stovetop. "Mother, dear, much as I adore your cooking... I think the stew is past saving."

She flipped the pot over the sink and watched as small, black pellets rained down into the metal basin. "Gee, and here I was thinking I could just add some water and tada - the charred bits would just come right off." She quipped.

Itachi sighed, "So he can't have his tomatos - big deal. Makoto's allergic to them anyway."

"This is a special dinner to celebrate your brother's upcoming engagement. He deserves to have something special." Mikoto slapped her eldest on the shoulder, "Besides, I made a nice egg-bake casserole for Makoto. In fact -," she donned the oven mitts and motioned for Itachi to move away from the stove.

Upon opening the door to the oven, however, she found her casserole to be in an even more unfortunate state. It looked like an egg-bomb had detonated in her once pristine oven, with bits of bacon and sauce in every crevice imaginable. She shriveled her nose in disgust. Hours upon hours of hard work, absolutely ruined. Was this an omen for how the rest of the night was bound to go? If so, perhaps it wasn't too late to take Fugaku's suggestion to lock up the doors and throw away the key.

"Hn... there's always pizza." Itachi offered not-so-helpfully. Mikoto sighed, feeling even worse when her grandson began to cheer in excitement.

"Can I have anchovies and mushrooms, Papa?" Samuru asked excitedly, "And lots and lots of cheese?"

"Only if you promise I don't have to eat any of it."

"Deal!"

"I guess it's only a matter of time before the girl finds out what a wretched cook I am anyhow..." she uncerimoniously dumped the burned casserole dish into the sink, "At least the blasted dinner will still be hot when your brother finally gets here. Keeping his family waiting like this..."

"We'll be sure to order a nice tomato pie for our resident latecomer." Itachi said, "Samuru, grab the phone. I trust you remember the number for the pizza parlor?"

* * *

It was a typical evening in the Uchiha household.

Makoto sat at the piano, fingers landing awkwardly on the ivory keys. It was near impossible to determine the tune she was playing, as the music was disjointed and discordant. Fugaku sat on the couch a little ways away, thumbing through that morning's newspaper. He had ear-plugs in to mask the worst of the noise, but he made sure to nod and shout a few words of encouragement in the child's direction every so often. The smile Makoto gave in return was well-worth the little white lie.

Ritsuka was... well, nobody was quite sure where Itachi's young bride had wandered off to. This was not entirely unusual and was therefore not cause for immediate concern. Perhaps she would make an appearance later in the evening, or would not be seen again until the early hours of the following morning. Often, she'd return with little to no recollection of where she'd been or what she'd done - but she was _usually_ in one piece, so the family didn't ask too many questions.

"The pizzas should be here in about forty-five minutes to an hour. I think that'll be enough time for Sasuke to pretty himself up for Sunday dinner." Itachi snarked.

Reaching up, he helped his son to slide off his shoulders and plopped him down onto Fugaku's lap. The man, utterly undeterred, simply flipped the page in the newspaper and announced, "Your wife's company is up 1.6 per cent in the stock market."

"Mmm... thinking about investing in a high-end brassiere for mom's birthday, pops?" A weaker man would've flushed. As it was, Uchiha Fugaku merely spit out a mouthful of chewing tobacco and wrinkled his nose in disdain.

"She'd need a set of knockers worth investing in, first." He replied blandly.

Itachi offered his father a wary smile, "Have I told you lately how endearing your misogynistic tendencies are?"

Fugaku, ignoring that last comment, cringed for an entirely different reason. The scent of burned tomatoes and eggs had finally wafted into the family room. "I told that woman not to waste her time cooking for that two-bit tramp your brother is bringing home -,"

Three bamboo skewers sliced through the air and imbedded themselves in the imported leather couch, just inches from Fugaku's more... sensitive areas. "What was that about me 'wasting' my time, love?"

"Nothing, dear."

Itachi wasn't all-together certain how his wife had managed to slip under Fugaku's radar - she was not especially violent and therefore able to manipulate him via fear, as Mikoto was, and yet, her femininity was not so understated that Fugaku would find himself at a loss for things to demean her. In fact, she paraded around the Manor half-naked most of the time. And if memory served, hadn't Fugaku berated Sasuke's soon-to-be bride for doing much the same?

Before he could put too much thought into it, however, his thoughts were interrupted by a vicious coughing fit. He barely had enough time to take the handkerchief from his back pocket before spitting up a mouthful of blood, much to his disgust and horror. Fugaku lowered the newspaper slowly, looking over his eldest son with a critical eye. He'd known for some time now that the boy was not well, but the sickness seemed to be progressing much faster than he'd realized.

"Perhaps you should lay down and rest awhile, son. Chances are your brother will not be here for some time yet." Fugaku said, his tone half-command and half-concerned suggestion. Makoto was, thankfully, still distracted with the piano and Samuru... well, Itachi wasn't quite sure what his little boy was doing.

"Samuru... are you _painting_ ojiisan's nails? Where did you even get nail polish from?" Itachi asked.

Fugaku, remarkably, took it in stride. Well, about as 'in stride' as someone like him could take something like this, Itachi supposed. "Hn, the kid has halfway decent taste. At least there's one thing the old bat is good for - giving the kid a sense of style."

"You let mama paint _your_ nails, papa." Samuru pointed out, his tone matter-of-fact. Itachi eyed his own chipping nail polish coolly.

"Maybe after dinner you can give papa a touch-up, hmm? Papa's nails are starting to look a little... nasty."

"Oh! I want to have my nails done, too!" Makoto spun around on the piano bench and rose to her feet, before skipping over to join the rest of the family. Brushing a short ebony curl behind her ear, she announced, "And pink! That bubblegum pink from mama's new line -,"

Samuru turned pleading onyx eyes on Itachi, "Can I do your nails pink too, papa?"

Itachi was about to respond when Fugaku cut him off, "Pink is a woman's color. You'll do your papa's nails black."

"Men can wear pink too!" The twins barked in unison.

"Who taught you that - the internet?" Fugaku made a mental note to cut their computer privaleges in half. "Besides, right now, your papa is going to go upstairs and rest a little while." One look in Itachi's direction was all it took to send him on his way, "Makoto, I want to hear you tickling those ivories. Samuru, you missed a spot."

* * *

"I think you made a wrong turn, Sasuke-kun." The district they were in was unfamiliar and terrifying. There was a man on the street corner, licking the gleaming silver of a blade, that winked at her as they drove past.

"I think I know where I live, Sakura." Sasuke said, not even bothering to try and disguise the snark. "Don't get your panties in a bunch. We're less than five minutes out - it's right on the other side of that bridge there."

As Sasuke approached the bridge, Sakura took note of what appeared to be a large lump _laying_ on the asphalt. Originally thinking it was a plastic bag or a rather large rock, she wasn't overly concerned... until the headlights fell on it and it turned out to be a woman. "Sasuke, look out!"

The scent of burning rubber filled the air as the tires squealed and the car attempted to skid to a halt... Sakura distantly remembered her seat belt failing to lock, a sharp _thud_ , and then everything going dark.


End file.
